Drunken Love
by Emeraldadrasteia
Summary: Love is an incredibly complicated thing, an organism with its own schemes. Controlling it is like playing with fire. Merope builds her own pyre.


**Drunken Love**

_**Amortentia** (ä•mōr•TEN•shēä)- dubbed 'the most powerful love potion' and considered extremely dangerous by most masters , this concoction is capable of causing the drinker to develop an infatuation for the intended recipient. If prepared and administered correctly, it provides the maker with powers of exploitation rivaled by such dangerous spells as the Imperius Curse..._

_------------------------- _

Step 153:  
Turn clockwise twice with a silver ladle. Then, let settle for ten seconds and turn counterclockwise once. Add a sprig of rosemary. Repeat twenty times. Watch the ruby color fade to form a transparent liquid.

After a few minutes you will see the characteristic mother-of-pearl sheen.

_-------------------------  
_

It changed slowly and steadily, the color of dilute tomato juice fading until the last wisps of pink finally disappeared into a crystal clear. Merope found her rippling, gleeful reflection staring back at her. She put out the fire below the cauldron and laughed as the now-iridescent potion emitted spirals of smoke. The scent of grass, tea, and horses overpowered her. Everything was nearly complete.

Merope lay down to sleep that night with a contented smile, her locket bumping futilely against her neck.

_------------------------- _

The last thing to do was to remove that ridiculous snake from the door.  
She had already cleared the cluttered branches surrounding the house, repaired the dilapidated roof and had even planted annuals around the walkway (Father would never know). The effect had certainly made the cottage seem more charming. Tom wouldn't recognize it... or her.

_------------------------- _

Merope eyed the shriveled serpent with disgust. She tapped the nail holding the snake with her wand and watched the snake hit the floor with a papery crackle. She gingerly picked up the body and threw it into the fireplace, watching the face's beady stare melt under the flames. No more would Morfin ruin her life.

After that, she only had to wait for the sound of distant hoofs.

_------------------------- _

_Amortentia's effects, unlike those of weaker love potions, are immediate, making the potion effective upon ingestion. If the brewer remains in the vicinity of the zealous drinker after the initial draft, the drinker will develop an overwhelming obsession for the brewer. This danger to the safety of the brewer proves to be another testament to the hazardous nature of this potion._

_------------------------- __  
_

She pressed her head against the window, her heart pounding against the glass like the rumbling of timpani, a crescendo of _lub-dubs.  
Clipclop, clipclop, clipclop, clipclop._

Her chariot awaits.

_------------------------- _

He was staring at her with (justified) confusion.

"Isn't this the Gaunt place? It looks so different," he asked, squinting at the refurbished house with a mixture of surprise and suspicion. "That Marvolo hasn't left, has he?"

"My father," began Merope, "is away."

"Oh, so you're that daughter of his? I didn't recognize you"-Merope smiled-"since you've... er... changed a bit." He eyed her clean, mended dress and her charmed face. "Your brother still here?"

"No, I'm afraid he's gone with Father as well," she answered, feigning an apologetic face.

"Ah," he replied, looking more relieved. He nudged his horse to move again. "Well, I have to be off-"

"Please, sir! Wouldn't you like a nice glass of water? It's rather warm outside today..."

He stopped but glared past her at the house, as if severely doubting that there could be any clean, drinkable water in such a modest place. However, he wiped off the sweat from his brow and nodded.

"Quickly, please. I need to be off to finish some errands in Greater Hangleton-I can't stay here forever, you know."  
_an make you try_, thought Merope, running back into the cottage, and filling a glass halfway with water. She then added the cooled potion to the glass and rushed back outside, practically bubbling with the success so far.

He warily glanced at the liquid in the cup.

"I'm not about to contract any vermin, am I?"

"Oh no, I just boiled this water!" Merope breathlessly, watching his every move with impatience.

"All right, then..." He drank the liquid in one shot and immediately lurched off his horse.

"Sir! Are you alright?" Merope yelled, moving forward.

He turned around to look at her and blinked. She drew in her breath.

_------------------------- _

Later, a voice in Merope's head told her that there was something inherently wrong about being defiled by a Muggle on Marvolo's-her own  
_father's_-bed. But she didn't mind, not at all, _oh no_, even as she gasped, even as the Peverell coat of arms dug deeper and deeper into her chest...

_------------------------- _

_The history of the use of Amortentia is mired in coercion, deceit and, tragedy due to its harmful nature. Circe was believed to paint her lips with the potion in order to compel her seduced companions. More recently, in the 15th century, Chester "Cupid" Langley was often known to attack unsuspecting women with small darts dipped in Amortentia in order to lure them into his house in London. The horrifying quality of these cases makes the production and trade of this substance to be strictly controlled by most magical administrations in the world._

_Under the first dose of Amortentia, the victim loses all capacities of coherent speech and becomes mainly consumed by a passionate and eager sexual drive for the brewer. However, interestingly, if Amortentia is regular and discreetly administered to the drinker, he or she regains his or her sense of speech and thought but remains attached to the intended recipient of this "love". On this note, many illicit users have revealed (after being apprehended for their crime) that their desired lovers tend to lose this ability to speak coherently if they experience frustration, anger, or prolonged detachment from the administrators of Amortentia. This is due to the potion itself as, under the influence of this potion, drinkers primarily respond to the urges towards the brewers. When experiencing intense emotion, they will react only to the effect of the potion._

_In the rare cases of long-term usage of Amortentia, the brewers tend to depend on the same batch of potion that they had used for the first dose. Because Amortentia, like any other love potion, strengthens over time, every subsequent dose of Amortentia is stronger than the previous dose (see page 315 for a general theoretical discussion of this love potion phenomenon). In long-term administrations, this can either be lethal to the drinker or put the brewer in an uncompromising and dangerous situation as this infatuation reaches its zenith._

_It is ironic that a potion meant to provide the brewers control over another often cause them to lose the control and live at the mercy of the obsessed drinker._

_------------------------- __  
_

"Where were you, darling?" Tom asked stroking her body.

_Darling_, he called her. She was beginning to hate it.

Before, she reveled when he uttered the word, proof that he had forgotten all about the slender, fair-haired, wealthy Cecilia Hurst.

Now... every day, it was a source of irritation. Merope just couldn't keep up with his vigor, his passion, his zeal to be with her.

"I was out," she snapped, feeling indifferent to his caresses.

"Darling, you must not exert yourself. It wouldn't do." he leaned in to whisper in her ear as he wrapped his hands around her hips.

"We need money." She scowled. Tom never took her or the rent of the flat seriously.

He pulled back and turned his head to look at the half-empty sack on the floor. "We have money," he muttered, as if the thought of financial burdens bored him.

Merope shook her head. The valuables Tom had stolen from Riddle House on her orders were all pawned off. The resulting Muggle money was disappearing quickly and the future was uncertain.

With Tom, life was simply all laughter and whirls, parties and tangos, kisses and moans. There was no time to rest.

In the beginning, it was perfect. A few Glamour charms in front of the mirror to vanish the raggedness in her face and a healthy dollop of Amortentia in Tom's tea were all it took in the morning to make the rest of the day divine. The Muggles didn't find him odd-they all assumed Tom and Merope were one of those Bright Young Things the papers complained about. The two dined in style, hopping from one elite restaurant to the next, and Merope indulged herself in Muggle fashion-sleek, sophisticated clothes that were nothing like the tattered frocks of her home. Merope had felt like royalty- a foreign notion in the wizarding world.

Their lifestyle had quickly taken a toll on their funds. Tom's family silverware and jewels were not enough to sustain their standard of living and would certainly not be able to support their child.

"Tom, one of us needs to get a job somewhere," Merope said, peeling his sweaty hands off her.

"Ah, Merope. You _know_ I can't bear to leave you. I just... I... can't...no," he sputtered, twitching wildly.

"Tom?"

"Merope, let's just forget about all of this. Come on," he beckoned her to the bed.

"Tom, I'm being serious here. Listen to me!"

"Darling, we'll settle it in the morning, won't we? Now we need to relax," he whispered into her hair. She stiffened.

"We don't have the mon-" Merope began but she look into his hungry eyes and knew that it was useless. As his fingers crawled over her  
body, groping, tugging, cupping, he would no longer listen to her. The potion had taken over and she would be the helpless one.

_------------------------- _

That night, Merope lay in bed and stared at the ceiling, trying to decide what to do next. One hand supported the growing bulge on her belly while the other was around the man-baby lying beside her, snoring into her neck.

She had two babies to think of. Both were gradually becoming bigger burdens. For one, her body was adjusting itself for her and preparing for the arrival. For the other, nothing seems to be the answer... _unless_

Merope eyed the small cauldron by her trunk, no longer glinting with promise.

_------------------------- _

_Today. I am going to do it today. I love him and I know he loves me back. I just can't take this anymore._

She heard the potion gurgle as it disappeared down the sink.

_------------------------- _

_**WARNING**: Strictly controlled substance. Results may be unpredictable. During the use of Amortentia, the drinker will remember  
all that occurs under the influence, even after the intoxication period. These instructions are intended for educational purposes only. _

-Libatius Borage

_------------------------- _

Merope never thought it would be like this.

"YOU DECEIVING, DIRTY BITCH! YOU DISGUSTING WHORE!"

"Tom?"

"SHUT UP, YOU FUCKING PIECE OF SLIME!"

"Tom... please."

He stopped shouting, apparently being out of breath.

"Tom, I-I love you. I always did. I just wanted to be with you. I'm sorry that I put you through this but I need you."

_True love conquers all_, she thought to herself. He simply _had_ to listen to her.

He glared at her for a long time and then walked to the door.

"I'm leaving. If I ever see you in my life again, I will kill you." He glanced at Merope's unused wand and empty cauldron by her bedside  
table. "_Never_ come near me again."

Merope didn't let a sob out until he had slammed the door after him. She stroked her belly. She should have told Tom about their child.

_------------------------- _

Merope still went to the bars, albeit alone. It wasn't safe, especially in _her_ condition, and she knew it as the other patrons gave her surreptitious looks. The barman, clasping the pound notes in his hand, merely shrugged and filled her cup.

She ordered brandy every time. It was strong enough to numb the agony and yet remind Merope of the swooshes and caresses and laughs. The  
French called it _eau-de-vie_, water of life. It suited her.

Merope rubbed at the fluttering inside of her. He needed to dull his pain too. She told herself that she was offering this nectar, this _water of life_, to the little one inside as well (_then again_, she'd remind herself later with a grimace, _this was exactly the sort of damned sentimentalism that had gotten me into this disaster in the first place_).

But Merope did not think of the future, of frost and helpless cries. The present enough was a bit too much for her and she wanted to just enjoy her life like any other girl. After all, all girls wanted happiness and Merope could only cry to a drained goblet that she hadn't gotten her fair share. But at least she could try to forget.

"Isn't this the most wonderful potion?" she sighed to the bartender, smiling at the golden liquid. He rolled his eyes-he'd had seen millions of Meropes at his counter before-and nodded jadedly, ready to refill her glass.

_------------------------- _

_There's the wonderful love of a beautiful maid,  
And the love of a staunch true man,  
And the love of a baby that's unafraid-  
All have existed since time began  
But the most wonderful love, the Love of all loves,  
Even greater than the love for Mother,  
Is the infinite, tenderest, passionate love  
Of one dead drunk for another._

-Anonymous

_fin_

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_

This is the term given to flashy young adults in Britain by the older, stiff, Victorian generation. :D

My personal commentary for this fic can be found on my profile.


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